


Deceiving

by BrynTWedge



Series: Under the Influence [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crack, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Greg Lestrade/Mike Stamford (pretend), M/M, Making Sherlock realise he's a jerk to people, Pranks and Practical Jokes, and that he should appreciate people
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-11 23:39:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15326940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrynTWedge/pseuds/BrynTWedge
Summary: Mycroft, Greg, and John have had enough of Sherlock's attitude. They construct a scheme to show Sherlock what it'd be like if they didn't know him.Sherlock is drugged with a new chemical Mycroft's people have produced, and then everyone Sherlock encounters pretends they have no idea who he is.





	Deceiving

**Author's Note:**

> This might sound a bit harsh on Sherlock, but they're trying to get Sherlock to appreciate all that they do for him. I didn't want to write a second part, but remember that they all still love him and will explain themselves afterwards. 
> 
> Sherlock understands, since he's often done the same in his experiments with others - Baskerville, for example, drugging John and terrorising him with noises in the lab.

Mycroft groaned as he sat down on the sofa, holding the whisky glass gingerly in is hand.   
“Myc? You ok?” Greg asked from the kitchen.   
“It has been a trying day,” Mycroft responded.   
Greg tossed the tea towel onto the bench and joined his husband on the couch. “Talk me through it, love.”   
“Sherlock,” Mycroft commented through gritted teeth. Greg nodded sympathetically.   
“He was a right bastard to me today, too. I think even _John_ got pissed off with him.”  
“He decided to grace me with his presence during a critical moment. Do you remember the drug trial I undertook on Friday?”  
“‘Course. The one what made you get coffee for Anthea, right? It makes you gullible something, yeah?”  
“Yes,” Mycroft chuckled. “It makes the user easily manipulated, and I had wanted to see what the sensation was to be able to identify if I was drugged with it. It had the unfortunate effect of blinding me to when I was being deceived, and not question it. Well, we have approved a blind test for it.”  
“And what did Sherlock do?”  
“Oh, nothing related to that.”  
“Then why bring it up?”  
“Because his actions today resulted in my decision regarding whom the test subject shall be.”   
Greg narrowed his eyes. “What are you planning, Myc?”  
“There is some internet restriction software I would also like to test. My brother needs to be taken down a peg, I believe,”  
“Yeah, you’re right about that.”  
“This will take some planning, but I am sure that we will have no qualms in recruiting volunteers for this… experiment. John was going to be a difficult player in the mix, however if he is as angry as I believe with my dear brother, I think we will have a shot of making this work.”

~

Sherlock woke up, not sure how he ended up in Regent’s Park overnight. He shrugged, deciding it wasn’t important, and headed back to Baker Street. 

He frowned when he realised that his key wasn’t working. He grumbled to himself and broke into his own flat. The moment he stood in the landing, he froze. It was wrong. His belongings were nowhere to be seen, and instead filled with items he’d never seen before mixed in with John’s things. He drifted into the kitchen, the cleanliness grinding against him.  
“Where is my equipment?” Sherlock griped, searching the cupboards. 

“Who the hell are you and what are you doing in my kitchen?”   
Sherlock swung around to see John standing there, angry.   
“John, what—”  
“How do you know my name?”   
Sherlock cocked his head to the side and took a step towards his friend.   
“Oi, that’s close enough,” John warned, pulling his gun and pointing it to Sherlock. “Get the hell out of my flat, you creep.”   
“What the hell has gotten into you, John?” Sherlock looked over John’s person, but saw nothing amiss. “Someone has obviously gotten to you. I live here, with you. I’m your partner.”  
“Ha! You’re going to have to do better than that. I don’t know you, I already have a partner, and I’m not gay.”   


Sherlock squinted, but John was telling the truth. Panic started to thrum in his chest. His eyes looked about and he could see the influence of a woman’s presence. His throat closed over as he saw a framed picture of John and Molly together, smiling. His eye twitched at the _wrongness_ of it. 

“You have to believe me. Just… I know you, I can prove it. You were an army doctor. You were invalidated from Afghanistan after being shot in the shoulder, and ended up with a psychosomatic limp. That’s when you met me, and the limp went away with the excitement in your life that you needed. We solve cases together, John, and then we - er - got together, romantically. I know you don’t take sugar in your coffee. You have a sister, but don’t get along because of her drinking. You keep in touch with her ex wife, though. I know you always put your shirt on before your trousers. I know you like to sleep on the right side of the bed. John…”

John shook his head, not taking his eyes off Sherlock. He frowned, still angry. “I don’t know where you got all that drivel, but you’re a pretty shitty stalker if you think all that about me. Or a lousy burglar attempting to escape. I think the only thing you got right was that I’m military and got shot. I’m not a doctor, I’ve never been to Afghanistan, I never had a limp, I don’t have a sister and I certainly don’t need to bother with your pitiful fifty-fifty guesses about my life.” 

Sherlock shut his mouth in shock. He swallowed, not liking how his body started shaking. He was sure… he was so sure… but John wasn’t lying. Could he have gotten it all wrong?   
“I… Mycroft. I’ll call Mycroft, and he’ll tell you I’m right.” He made to pull out his phone.   
“Ah… no. Hands where I can see them.” John clocked the gun. Sherlock raised his hands in submission.   
“I am just getting my phone.”   
“How about _I_ get my phone, and call the police.”  
“Do that, yes, and Lestrade’ll tell you that I’m right.”  
“Who?”  
“Gavin —er, Greg — Lestrade.” Sherlock decided this wasn’t a time for games with Lestrade’s name.   
“Please, John, can’t you give me just a chance? One chance?”  
John narrowed his eyes and gave a curt nod. He kept the gun pointed at Sherlock but indicated for him to continue. Sherlock whipped his phone out and dialled Mycroft. 

“I need you to tell John who I am,” he blurted as soon as the call connected.  
Mycroft grinned slyly. “Who are you and how did you get this number?” Mycroft said, his voice stern.  
“Mycroft, stop it.”  
“How did you know that name?”  
“ _Mycroft!_ ”  
Mycroft had to suppress a chuckle. “My advice to you is to lose this number, never mention that name again, and scuttle before you regret ever believing you had a chance of playing this game.”  
“What the hell is going on? Why are you being like this? It’s _Sherlock_!”  
“Is that supposed to mean something to me? Desist with your intentions, or you will be found and, well, you won’t enjoy that,” Mycroft purred. “Your location has been triangulated, and your movements will be tracked. Do anything suspicious and I can assure you… no one will find you.”  
Mycroft ended the call, and burst out laughing. It felt _good_ to taunt his brother like this after all this time. He continued watching the hidden cameras. There was no way he was going to miss the opportunity to view the footage of this day for years to come in his home cinema when his brother had, again, given him a headache from his antics. 

Sherlock stared at his phone. He was aware that John was still there, aiming the gun at him, but his mind couldn’t process what was going on. It wasn’t a trick, since both John and his brother were being honest. For someone to get to _Mycroft_ meant this was serious. John was ridiculously easy to drug, but his brother was another matter entirely.  
“Sounds like you wasted your one chance,” John said, amused.  
He pulled his phone out and dialled as Sherlock watched. “Hello? Yes, I’d like to report a break-in. I have an intruder in my home. I have him at gunpoint… yes, I do… Captain John Watson… no, I don’t know but he doesn’t have any bags to take it away. Yes, I’ll be here.” 

Sherlock was visibly nervous once John finished the phone-call. He hadn’t called Lestrade, it had been a general 999 call. At least the officers would recognise him; he worked around NSY enough to be known. 

It turned out, that the officers didn’t know him, even if Sherlock could name them both as part of Lestrade’s team (which they both denied). He tried to argue that he lived there, but he couldn’t prove it. As he was en-route to the Yard, he tried to google John’s blog as evidence to show that he was, in fact, John’s roommate… but couldn’t find it. He tried to search for his own blog, but it wasn’t there either. He googled himself for _anything_ to show his association with John, but no results came up. He growled at it, and tossed his phone… which was promptly confiscated. He was taken in for questioning, and so he continued to demand to see Lestrade. Eventually, one of the officers relented and phoned the DI. 

Greg was at his desk, waiting for the phone call. He had Johnson and Wagner go out on the call-out, two of his constables that Sherlock had insulted merely days ago.   
“Lestrade,” he snapped into the phone, in case Sherlock was listening in.   
“Sir, I have a man here in the cells that is demanding to speak with you. He says you know him.”  
“What’s his name?”  
“Sherlock Holmes, sir,” Johnson said hesitantly.   
“Ha, you joking, right?”  
“No sir. He insists that is his real name. The ID in his possession supports that.”   
Lestrade was _loving_ having Sherlock’s name being the one in question. “Well, I don’t know any ‘Sherlocks’, and I can honestly tell you I’m sure of that.”  
Greg heard shouting in the background… Sherlock complaining and shouting.   
“Right, sir. Sorry to bother you, sir.”   
“Johnson,” Greg started to buy time for Sherlock to try bargain his way up. The constable was told to expect as much.   
“Sir… he says he’s the brother of your husband.”  
Greg smiled. He was expecting this. He leaned back in his chair, smiling. “Tell him Mike doesn’t have a brother, and I think I would know him if he did.” 

“He says that Mike doesn’t have a brother and he would know him if he did,” Johnson repeated to Sherlock.  
Sherlock sat upright, adrenaline surging through him. So, he thought, Lestrade was still married to Mycroft. He had to shake his head to dismiss him ever questioning that.  
“Tell him that I _am_ , even if he doesn’t know it. Tell him something’s affected him, and it could be dangerous and I want to try help.” 

Johnson rolled his eyes and looked at Wagner, but relayed the information. Greg told him to take Sherlock to an interview room and that he’d come down. Sherlock was relieved. 

“Right,” Greg said as he walked in. “I don’t know you, and I don’t have much time to waste. You better get right to the point. I’m only here because I would do anything for Mike, and would hate myself if something was wrong and I didn’t do anything.”  
“Ergh, spare me your disgusting declarations of love.”  
“If you don’t want me to walk out of that door and leave you in the cells,” Greg warned with a dangerous tone, “then you will show me some respect.” Greg reeled at how good that felt to say. It felt even better that he saw Sherlock move to argue, but think better of it and shut his mouth.  
“Good,” Greg huffed. “Now. Tell me how you know Mike, and how he is in danger.”  
“He… he doesn’t remember me. You don’t remember me. Someone has gotten to you both… and John… and I know it’s only going to end up bad for you all.”  
“John?”  
“My partner.” 

Greg made a show of groaning, pinching his nose, and then frowning at Sherlock. “Ok, so let me get this straight. You’re saying that not only do I not remember you at all, but my husband doesn’t remember you being his brother, and your partner doesn’t remember you either.”  
“Correct, obviously,” Sherlock snapped, but then sunk into himself at the scowl Greg shot him. “Sorry,” he mumbled. Greg smirked.  
“And you think this means that we’re in danger. How?”  
“I don’t know. It’s not good, though, is it? Something’s going on!”  
“And you can’t see that maybe it’s _you_ that’s wrong? That the something going on is that _you’re_ unwell?”

Sherlock swallowed uncomfortably. Honestly, he had been thinking that. It seemed extremely unlikely that all three of them had been affected with something. He’d been somewhat reassured when he found that Lestrade was still married to Mycroft, but too much wasn’t adding up. It then struck him: this could be a plot to get to Mycroft.   
“I-I admit, it sounds strange, but when it comes to Mycroft, the strange can happen at alarming frequency. If my brother is compromised, we could all be in danger.”  
“Who?”  
Sherlock froze. “Mycroft… my brother. Your husband? You literally just said his name.”  
“Mike’s name is Michael, but prefers Mike.”  
“What?” Sherlock asked, incredulous.   
Greg sighed dramatically. “Mike Stamford. I think I’m about done here. Wagner? Take him to give a sample. If it’s negative, then organise a psych eval before you charge him with breaking and entering.”  
“And if he tests positive for drugs, sir?”  
“Same as any other junkie,” Greg said dismissively. He stood, not bothering to look at Sherlock. He hoped the man understood that he’d been getting a good deal of patience and understanding thus far, and would appreciate it more in future. 

Sherlock frowned at himself. He was sure he wasn’t taking drugs… but suddenly was paranoid that everything around him was just part of a trip. He watched Lestrade leave, but didn’t want to get up out of the chair. He just sat in panicked silence, eyes darting about the room. 

Greg burst out laughing as he walked into the room on the other side of the glass. Mycroft was standing there with John, both of them sniggering.   
“Oh that felt _good_ ,” Greg said. He approached his husband and gave him a chaste kiss before looking back to Sherlock.  
“It appears my brother is questioning himself.”  
“That’s the point, isn’t it?” John asked. He didn’t like seeing his partner in distress, but he had been _really_ pissed off. “Getting him to realise he’s not the ultimate authority on everything.”  
“Yes, I believe that position is already occupied,” Mycroft commented, smirking. Greg thumped him playfully in the arm.   
“Careful, or you’ll be next,” he joked. “So, when do we do the big reveal?”  
“The drug lasts for twenty-four hours, so we have plenty of time to continue toying with him,” Mycroft said. “I believe you wanted to make him realise he needed to appreciate you more, John?”  
“I said it’d be nice,” John mumbled, crossing his arms. “I don’t want to trick him into it though.”   
“Perhaps we can orchestrate him seeing you merely taking Miss Hooper shopping? Perhaps seeing you both giving a supposed statement of his breaking and entering, then talking of leaving for the activity?”   
“What’d that teach him?” Greg asked, frowning.  
“Just that John does good things for Sherlock in his daily activities, and that it’s important to recognise that good,” Mycroft answered. 

“Well, he’s been taken to Sally now. She’s a bit too enthusiastic to be a part of this,” Greg said.   
“She’s pretending to be the drugs officer, correct? Anderson is going to do the testing?”  
“Yeah. We figured that Sherlock having to pee in the same room as Anderson was punishment enough for him,” Greg chuckled.   
“And then he’ll just be detained overnight?” John asked, wanting to be sure.   
“Yeah. Just to see what is supposed to happen when someone is caught with drugs, so he’ll appreciate what we do for him a bit better,” Greg grumbled. He sighed and frowned, thinking. “Are we being a bit harsh here?”  
Mycroft shot him a piercing stare. “No,” he responded blankly. “He can endure the consequences of not having our support for one day.”   
“Yeah, then torture us for doing it for the rest of the month,” John laughed. “Well… more you guys. I can just withhold sex until he plays nice.”  
“That sounds more like a punishment for _you_ mate,” Greg chortled.  
“Oh, you’d be surprised how much Sherlock _loves_ it when—”  
“Aaaand I’m leaving,” Mycroft interrupted, stiffly walking out of the room, laughter erupting behind him. 


End file.
